Tripping
by ella eternity
Summary: A bad trip? What’s a trip? He remembers things called roads and twists and turns and rest stop bathrooms. Stop signs, cold and blaring and red, just like Skittery’s screams. slash


_Authors Note: This was born from me reading a magazine article about the Beatles' experiences with acid. Change John, Paul, Geo and Ringo to Snitch and Skittery, and et voila! Instant drugged up Snittery! Read and review please! Because reviews make me happier than Teddy Grams. (…okay, maybe it's a tie)_

_Disclaimer: Do I really have to say that I don't own them? I don't._

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Snitch pounds down the slatted wooden stairs to the basement, letting the smell of mildew and old memories assault his nostrils. Skittery spends almost all of his time down here now, letting the moist air and mold absorb into his skin. Skittery doesn't seem to mind the unfinished walls and rough woven carpet. But Skittery doesn't seem to mind much anymore, anyway. Vaguely, Snitch wonders what sort of chemicals he'll find his best friend impaired with this time.

"Skittery?"

A name called into a dark, damp room.

Snitch walks across the basement, switching on the harsh fluorescent light located near the Beatles poster. Turning around, he sees his best friend sitting, cross legged, with two tiny strips of paper lying neatly on the floor in front of him.

"Skitts?"

"I was waiting for you, Snitch."

"….For what?"

Waving his hand at the papers in front of him, Skittery smiles at Snitch. A scary sort of smile. The sort of smile that swallows Snitch and makes him forget.

"You should try it, Snitch, you have to."

Snitch blinks. It takes him a minute to realize that these aren't two normal strips of paper. Yet, he isn't surprised when he finally processes the information.

"Acid, Skittery? I don't know. That stuff is pretty heavy."

Skittery simply grins.

"Yeah, but Snitch, it's amazing. Reality melts and its all clear and nothing is wrong. Just once, just try it once."

Snitch looks at his smiling face, his gesturing hand. And relents. It can't hurt him just once, can it?

"You first."

Skittery is quick to give orders when they concern mind-altering drugs.

Snitch lets the paper melt under his tongue, and waits for the world to slip away. Skittery follows suit, training his eyes on Snitch, gauging his reaction.

"I…don't feel anything Skitts."

"Just wait Snitcha."

The clock ticks on the wall. Somewhere in the street outside children scream and laugh. Snitch remembers his kick ball days. He would have never thought then that he would be sitting in a basement with the boy he had shared popsicles with every summer and thrown snowballs at in the winter time, waiting for a hit of acid to hit him.

That's when Snitch begins to feel himself drift farther into the floor. Wasn't the floor solid only a moment ago? Now he fears that he's swimming in cement, flailing among thick sludge from Skittery's old floor. He doesn't know what the definition of solid is anymore.

Across from him, Skittery is staring into space, murmuring to himself and beginning to rock back and forth. Maybe Skittery can save him.

Snitch reaches up to touch his best friend, but instead falls. He finds himself taking shelter in a church made of sea shells and old postal stamps. Bombs are departing all around him.

Boom! And the room explodes.

Flashes of color play across his eyes, and he watches a movie in reverse. Nothing is making sense anymore. Snitch wonders if it's all just fallen frames, anyway.

Skittery is becoming farther and farther away from him. He's flying towards the ceiling, and his best friend is far below. The air is swirling and Skittery is the fog and the smoke and everything that is so unclear. Skittery…he's a good boy, really, but it's a pity that he's turning into a plastic statue of an already fallen idol. Snitch knows how far from the ground he is. He sees how far that ugly brown rug is from him.

He calls Skittery back, but hears that his voice is replaced by a silver Jesus, chanting Hare Krishna. Who knew that LSD would turn Snitch religious? But Skittery is a vision, a vision in a suburban basement. His best friend and worst enemy and most painful memory.

Snitch tries to stand, but falls into the in-between. Skittery is flying higher. And he's everything and nothing. He's animal and aphrodisiac. Spirit and soul. Ghost and grave. Skittery is suddenly every desire brought to life.

Snitch sees them holding egg shell hands in front of an ice cream sunset, and wonders what Skittery is seeing. But then the flashing lights come and carry him away. They whisper and sing and twist melodies into his ears.

_ "Submit,"_ they are chanting softly, _"it's so much easier."_

And then he hears screaming, so far off an distant and lost in a dream. But Skittery's mouth is molding and twisting and there's a hole where his heart should be. Snitch gasps in horror as he sees blood leaking from his best friend's eyes, and thinks that maybe his karma is finally catching up with him.

The paranoia begins to set in. Snitch seems monsters and his mother and darkness all around. It's all encompassing and Snitch tries to burn the candle he knows is hovering somewhere. He can save Skittery. He can. He can. He knows it.

But he has no voice. Words are no longer real. They're cotton candied confections in a world that he once knew. And Skittery is still screaming. Still crying and hiding from the invisible army that Snitch can't seem to attack.

_ "No",_ he hears, and exclamation hidden in a whimper, _"Not him, not that. NO."_

Such normal utterances in a turbulent time.

Snitch wanders the room, touching the walls and trying to be infinite. A bad trip? What's a trip? He remembers things called roads and twists and turns and rest stop bathrooms. Stop signs, cold and blaring and red, just like Skittery's screams. Red, filling the room and blocking Snitch's mind and turning him helpless. Thank god that there are no windows in this room. Thank god that Skittery is afraid to jump.

Screaming. Too much screaming. It is burning his ears and making Snitch cringe. What could he do? Snitch sits across from his best friend, trying to focus, trying to make Sittery focus on him. But Skittery's storm front eyes are glazed over and won't look at Snitch.

Snitch stares at his best friend. Lollipop lips and amber ring eyes. PH factors seem to make Skittery even more beautiful. He is ethereal. Creator and Destroyer. He is perfection personified.

Skittery has ceased his screaming. He is staring at Snitch, leaning forward. Leaning and flying and failing.

A cricket chirps outside. The water heater kicks in. And Snitch leans in and kisses his best friend. And his best friend kisses back. Matching the movement of his lips. Getting lost in a world without maps.

Snitch tries to describe the kiss in his foggy mind. Tries to lock it away. It is strawberry diamonds and candy canes and Christmas morning. Snitch thinks that maybe he isn't supposed to feel this way. Maybe Skittery shouldn't be kissing him back.

But he figures that it can't hurt them, just once.


End file.
